


Fall

by Namarie



Category: In Plain Sight
Genre: Angst, F/M, Prompt Fic
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-11-14
Updated: 2011-11-14
Packaged: 2017-10-26 01:45:38
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,264
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/277236
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Namarie/pseuds/Namarie
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
      <p>Originally written for 31stcentury at the mary_marshall LJ community, for Christmas 2010, for the prompt of Soul Coughing's "Soundtrack to Mary." It's a bit more relationship-angsty than I usually write, but don't let that worry you.<br/>Thanks to Mack for the beta. Thanks to Soul Coughing for the wonderfully intriguing lyrics and melody.</p>
    </blockquote>





	Fall

**Author's Note:**

> Originally written for 31stcentury at the mary_marshall LJ community, for Christmas 2010, for the prompt of Soul Coughing's "Soundtrack to Mary." It's a bit more relationship-angsty than I usually write, but don't let that worry you.  
> Thanks to Mack for the beta. Thanks to Soul Coughing for the wonderfully intriguing lyrics and melody.

~

 _Easy places to get away to.  
Easy limbs languid all around you.  
All my time is  
Dirt on your hands.  
Fingers drifting  
Down my spine now._

 _Fall,  
Fall,  
Fall,  
Fall,  
Fall,  
Fall.  
Soundtrack to Mary._

 _Many minds wandering from room to room.  
Many trees slain just to write it to you.  
Many rays blinding,  
Almost drowning,  
Keep this whole shine,  
Locked in my room._

 _Throw back the noise, get another one.  
Pour out the rum, I've been drunk enough.  
I know the sound that you made and I  
Can't seem to unremind myself._

 _I hope you feel better  
later on._

~

Marshall wakes up slowly, his eyes slamming shut an instant after he opens them as the light streaming in through the window causes his headache to increase exponentially in intensity. He groans and rolls over, squinting blearily at his alarm clock. 9:58. He hopes he's not supposed to be at work right now. But no, Mary would have called--

 _Mary._ Marshall opens his eyes wide at this thought, ignoring the increase in pain this brings – or maybe welcoming it. The memories cascade through his mind...

 

He knocked on her hotel room door cautiously, but heard no response. She'd been seeming out of sorts all day – less communicative than usual, and often staring off into space, deep in thought. Marshall had figured she might be more willing to talk about it after the day's business of a witness transfer was done. He took a breath and called out, “Can I come in?”

After a pause, her voice carried through the door. “Whatever. It's unlocked.” Not exactly the most enthusiastic he'd ever heard her, but he'd take it.

She was sitting on her bed, holding something and looking at it, but she set it down on her bedside table when he came in. “Hey.”

“Hey,” he returned, sitting down next to her but not too close. “You all right?”

Mary raised her eyes to his briefly, then shrugged. “Yeah. Fine. Why do you ask?” This last was said with a slight defensive edge that was not unexpected.

“You just seemed a little ... quiet today,” he said.

She smiled, and Marshall was sure he was going to get some casual quip in response – maybe something about how he was the one who never shut up, so he shouldn't point the finger – when the smile faded and she looked away.

“Seriously, Mary,” he pressed, “is there something wrong?”

At that, she laughed bitterly and stood up, pacing to the other side of the room. “You could say that.”

“What is it?” This was obviously something serious, something that she felt he needed to know but that she couldn't tell him. Marshall stood up but didn't follow her. She wouldn't respond well to him pressuring her with his physical presence, he knew.

When she finally replied, it was in a voice that was so quiet he almost didn't hear. “I don't know if I can do this anymore, Marshall.”

Something cold seemed to settle over him even as he asked, “Do what?” There weren't very many candidates he could think of as an answer to this question.

She turned around, looked him in the eye, and seemed to think for a minute. Then, before he had time to fully grasp what was happening, she strode back across the room to him, took his face in both of her hands, and started to kiss him – repeatedly and passionately.

Marshall forgot to breathe, forgot to do anything except kiss her in return, for some timeless seconds. He had been waiting for this for so long. It took a huge effort of will to pull back even slightly, against his own desires.

As gently as possible, Marshall pulled himself a few centimeters away, resting his forehead against hers. “Mary,” he whispered. It took him several seconds to get his breathing under any kind of control. Her kisses had tasted more than a little of whiskey, he noted even through his distraction.

She was also breathing heavily, and her hands were still at the back of his neck. “What?”

He closed his eyes and tried to clear his head. He needed to make sure what he said right now into this delicate situation came out the way he wanted. “Mer, I need you to know that this can't be a one-night thing. It's too important – _you're_ too important to me – for this to be just a fling. All right?”

“What are you saying?” Mary asked, moving her hand across his face to his lips in a way that made it even more difficult to concentrate.

Marshall swallowed. This wasn't the way he envisioned telling her, but perhaps it was the best time after all. Then again, it could backfire hugely. “I'm saying,” he replied slowly, “that I lo--”

“Don't.” Mary's voice was suddenly sharper. Her hand stilled. Then it started to move again, down his body. “Don't say it.”

 _Oh, God._ Marshall covered her hand with his and pulled it away, gently. This wasn't going to end well. “Mer, please--” He wasn't entirely sure what he was asking her. To listen to him, maybe.

Complete silence fell. Then Mary tore her hand away. “Fine.” All of the heat left her expression, to be replaced by a look that could freeze almost anyone in their tracks. “I guess I was right. This isn't going to work anymore.” For an instant, he thought he saw something else in her eyes – something that bordered on brokenness – before she turned away.

“Mary,” he started, but she shook her head and refused to meet his eyes.

“Get out.”

 

~

Marshall covers his face with his hands. Now that the numbness of last evening's overindulgence has mostly worn off, the pain is coming back full-force – and it's not the hangover that he really notices. The hangover is nothing in comparison to the rock that has resettled on on his chest, that has been there since he left Mary's hotel room two days ago.

Mary had been utterly silent the entire rest of the way back to Albuquerque the morning after this disaster, except when speaking to him had been absolutely necessary. He hadn't pushed. Although a large part of him desperately wanted to ask her what she really meant by “this” not working anymore, a larger part of him was desperately afraid he knew exactly what she meant.

When they had arrived in Albuquerque, Mary had left the office as soon as possible, again avoiding as much interaction with Marshall as she could. Stan had definitely noticed the tension, but Marshall hadn't been able to bring himself to tell the man what was really wrong. Denial, he thinks now, with a bitter smile.

His partner had refused to answer his calls, and hadn't answered her door either when he'd given in to his need to try to see her in person. In the end, with a heavy heart, he had capitulated and had gone home to get blindingly drunk. At which he had succeeded. He's fairly certain his hard liquor stock is nearly gone at this point.

Finishing this retrospective tour of the past two days has not made Marshall feel any better about any of it. The pain of her rejection is still just as fresh, as is the fear that she's right, albeit for different reasons than she no doubt meant it – that they cannot continue as partners now. He can't keep doing this to himself.

Slowly, Marshall gets up and begins to start his morning routine. A shower makes him feel slightly less terrible. After he gets dressed, he is sure to drink plenty of water to rehydrate. Breakfast goes down with an extra-strength painkiller that helps take the edge off his headache. Several times during the meal, his gaze is drawn to his cell phone ... but she doesn't call, and he doesn't call her.

He does some housecleaning after the headache finally abates, but he doesn't make much headway. It's all too obvious to him that it's not just the hangover-induced listlessness that is weighing him down.

Marshall tries to distract himself with a marathon of whatever crime drama is available on cable at the moment, but the selection is disappointingly limited for the absurd number of channels for which he has signed up. Daytime TV, he acknowledges resignedly, deciding to switch to a movie channel instead.

He's in the middle of _Jaws 2_ , trying and failing not to notice the laundry list of scientific inaccuracies contained in almost every scene of the movie, when his cell phone buzzes and slides along the coffee table. His heart speeds up when he sees the text is from Mary: _Can we talk?_

Marshall raises his eyebrows. Mary is actually asking him to talk – actually making the first move to resolve this?

Once again, he thinks back to the events that have led them to this state, and he can't hold back a sigh. A part of him wants to ignore the text, let her stew for a while – make her feel some of the rejection he's feeling. But even if he didn't know that would likely backfire, he can't stand remaining in this painful limbo state for any longer himself. He texts back: _Where and when?_

It takes a much longer time than Marshall had anticipated for her reply to arrive. When it does, he is surprised once again: she tells him that she's on her way right now. That means she's committing at least somewhat to seeing this conversation through. Otherwise, she would have chosen a coffee shop or restaurant from which she could flee more easily.

When he hears the knock on his door some minutes later, Marshall takes a deep breath before he opens it. He tries his best to keep his expression neutral. “Hi.”

Mary, he can't help noticing, looks a little less put-together than she usually does, even on a day off. She searches his face for a moment and then says, “Hi. Can I come in?”

He stands aside wordlessly, closing the door after her.

They are silent for several seconds. Marshall knows she's uncomfortable with the quiet, but he won't fill it this time. He needs her to start.

Finally, she clears her throat. “I, um ... Jesus. I want to make this right, Marshall.” She twists her hands together, not meeting his eyes. “But I'm not sure I know how.” Her voice drops almost to a whisper.

Marshall sighs. “You can start by telling me what you think 'right' would mean.”

Now she just looks confused. “What? I-- I think that's pretty obvious,” she stammers.

“Please,” Marshall says, willing her to grasp how important this is to him. “I need to know if we're on the same page, Mary.”

Mary raises her eyes for a moment, and he thinks he sees some understanding there. “All right,” she says softly. “What I really want is for us to be back to normal – the way things were before I got a little drunk and a lot stupid.”

Marshall nods once, forcing himself not to show his disappointment. Of course she would want to deny it. Why would that have changed since she cut him off before he could even speak his feelings for her in her hotel room? But he must not have hidden his reaction well enough, because his partner cuts into his melancholy ruminations. “Hey. I said that's what I want, genius, not what I think would be right.”

He looks up, shocked yet again and trying not to get his hopes up. “Then please elaborate.”

Her momentary return to her usual brand of sarcasm seems to have faded. She clears her throat again. “I don't think we can go back to normal – if either of us could ever have been called 'normal', which I doubt.” A brief wry smile passes across her face. “But all I can tell you about what should happen next is that I don't want to leave ... and I don't want you to leave, either.”

Marshall can't ignore the desperation in her voice. He takes a step toward her and asks, “Do you trust me?”

It's Mary's turn to be shocked. She opens her mouth, but it takes several seconds for her to tell him, “Of course I do, Marshall! What kind of a dumb question is that? You're my partner, my best friend, and--”

“Then stop worrying,” he cuts in, taking her hand in his. “You know me, you trust me ... and I trust you.”

At this, Mary's expression of dawning hope dies. She drops his hand and starts to turn away. “Yeah, well, maybe you shouldn't.”

“Mary.”

She stops, turning back toward him with trepidation and guilt written across her features.

Marshall takes a deep breath. She's still here, which means she's listening to him, still desperate for some reassurance that she can't give herself. He has a chance. “You'll fight tooth and nail for your witnesses or your family if you need to,” he points out. “So how about you try not giving up so easily on yourself?”

After a moment, Mary gives him a shaky smile. “That makes some sense.” Then her smile turns wicked for a second as she regards him with an appraising eye. “So you're sticking around, huh? You sure you know what you're signing up for?”

Marshall laughs, and his heart lightens for the first time in what feels like ages. “Oh, I'm pretty sure,” he replies. He puts an arm around her shoulder and is pleased to find that she leans against him willingly. “Are you?”

~


End file.
